


Sanders Sides Drabbles and Shorts

by sympathetic_deceit_trash



Series: Arson's Sanders Sides Fics [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Angst, Deceit Sanders Angst, Gen, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, M/M, Other, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sympathetic_deceit_trash/pseuds/sympathetic_deceit_trash
Summary: Mostly angst so far.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Series: Arson's Sanders Sides Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2115789
Kudos: 49





	1. I Hate You ×Anxceit Angst×

"I hate you," he hissed, flipping up his hoodie as if it would protect him. But from what? From Deceit? As if Deceit would ever, could ever even _imagine_ hurting Virgil even after all this time.

Instead, Deceit tilted his head, but there was no sly smile or sneer or anything except for an uncomfortable, quiet curiosity in his face.

"What's the matter, Virgil?" He questioned. "Scared of the monster you made? Of the boogeyman that you put in your own closet? Of the enemy that you armed? The gun that you loaded?" He leaned forward, never breaking eye contact. "Are you scared of what you've done, my dear?"


	2. Dream ×Ambiguous Deceit Pairing Angst×

Deceit kisses them like he's dying, like it's the last thing he'd ever do, the only thing worth doing for the rest of his life. His clings to them like they'll disappear when he lets go, hands gripping at their shirt, their hair, their shoulders, anything to keep them here, to keep Deceit here, where he wants to stay until he breathes his last breath.

"Please," he whimpers against their lips, a muffled sob wracking his body, "please, don't do this to me, I can't- don't leave me, please, don't make me wak-"

"It's time to wake up, De." They whisper to his horror, cupping his cheek.

He sat up in bed, eyes wide as he gripped the sheets.

"No- _no_!" He hissed, drawing his knees up to his chest and fisting his hands in his hair. "No..."

Why couldn't he just stay asleep?

Asleep, where his love was returned and he could kiss them until he was out of breath abd his lips turned blue. Asleep, where he didn't have to worry about them not even liking him, let alone loving him, because of who and what he was.

He knew that here, in real life, he was hated, and he was so, _so_ tired.

He just wanted to stay asleep.


	3. The Color Red ×Logince Angst×

Logan always loved the color red.

He'd never say why.

Logan would sooner admit his mistakes then explain why the color red was so beautiful to him.

It was simple, really; Red was him. It was his color.

So it wasn't surprising that he'd grown to despise the color once he'd broken up with R-

With him.

Logan avoided anything to do with red. It was stupid, honestly. He knew that. And yet, he still hated the color red.

Nothing changed the way Logan associated the color with him. He couldn't help but think of him.

Red was crayons to color with, the first color in the rainbow, the color of a Valentine's day card. Red was a beautiful rose, red was the color of passion and love. Red was the color of boldness and bravery, of the blood from battles fought.

Red was Roman.

Logan used to love red.

He can't stand it anymore, because red was him.


	4. Roses ×Prinxiety Fluff×

Virgil sighed as his eyes fluttered open, feeling way too tired than should be allowed. He closed his eyes again and reached over to his right, blindly feeling around in search of his phone. His eyes shot open again at the feeling of something soft and velvety against his thin, pale fingers and he sat up, curiously picking up the object.

A thornless, red rose.

Virgil examined it with furrowed brows, confused until his gaze shifted onto the side table the rose had been on. A small piece of white paper sat on top of his phone, a cursive "~R" on it.

Oh.

Oh! It was-

Virgil couldn't help the grin that stretched across his lips and he looked back at the rose in a new type of gaze. A fond, loving sort of gaze.

Having just started dating Roman a few days ago, Virgil should've expected something like this from the prince. He was the supposed romantic, after all.

Virgil swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, still holding the rose to his chest. He made his way over to his desk, grabbing an empty glass and heading over to the bathroom to fill it with water. Virgil placed the beautiful flower in the glass once it had water in it, his fond smile never leaving his face.

And when he woke up the next morning to another rose on his bedside table along with another note? Well, Virgil didn't feel as tired anymore.


	5. Mine ×Angst×

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't put who the person writing was or who they were talking about but it's heavily hinted at and I'm sure you'll figure it out.

You were mine.

You were late nights and sleepovers and old, worn hoodies that smelled like love.

You were cheesy horror flicks that could be used to cuddle.

You were spiderwebs in the corner of my room and moonlight shining in through the window.

You were cat plushies and movie posters and cold hands slipping under my shirt for warmth.

You were sweater paws and muffled snickers and snorting with laughter at 3 am.

You were chocolate bars and sleepy time tea and weighted blankets.

You were the shadows I saw from the corner of my eyes, keeping me company.

You were eyeshadow palettes and well used makeup brushes long forgotten under the bed.

You were awkward hugs and careful kisses and hesitant love.

You were mine.

I thought you were mine.

Weren't you?

When did you become sleepless nights and ignored calls and left behind clothes?

When did you become horror movies that give you nightmares for weeks?

When did you become cobwebs above my bed and starless, pitch black nights?

When did you become forgotten stuffed animals and ripped posters and shivering alone in the cold?

When did you become middle fingers and suppressed sighs and hidden glares?

When did you become bitter chocolate and tea left cold and tearstained blankets?

When did you become the shadows in the dark that kept me from relaxing until the next morning?

When did you become empty palettes and broken brushes, thrown away?

When did you become purposeful avoidance and cruel sneers and cold, biting words?

Why did you change?

Why did you leave?

Weren't you mine?

Was it my hair?

Was it my eyes?

My scales?

My clothes?

My words?

My function?

Or was it you?

I thought you were mine.

Were you ever mine?


End file.
